


He touches me, he touches me, I touch him.

by FugalGear



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I jotted this down today, M/M, Multiple Pov, first person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:11:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FugalGear/pseuds/FugalGear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I endeavour to change him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He touches me, he touches me, I touch him.

He touches me. I do not engage him reciprocally, and after a moment I extend my arm to block his advances.

"I'm busy, darling," I playfully drawl, positioning myself closer to my desk defensively. I flash my best lustful glance as he steps away from me, tongue wetting my dry bottom lip as I pretend to think something lustful. My mind is back to crunching numbers and sculpting equations before I even wave my hand to dismiss my twin. "I'll tend to you later, pet."

He must find the promise satisfactory, because my ears twitch when the heavy oak door of my office clicks shut. The resonant echo of Richard's sullen sigh fades at the same pace as the sound of his naked footsteps thumping down the hall.

\--

He touches me since I asked him to. I know that if I never asked Jim again he would be grateful, but presently I pretend the look on his face is arousal and desire. Jim knows my lust and he spares me from my sin, even if the dirty nothings he teasingly lilts are the emptiest lies he's ever told me. It doesn't hurt me that he pretends. My brother's warm body is a protective shell that cocoons me against my shame.

\-- 

I touch him. It is easy and methodical, the summation of a lifetime's practise and experimentation.

The closest love I feel for Richard is a need to maintain his well-being. I appreciate his humour and his company, and satisfying his hunger is a commonplace routine. Occasional sadness darkens my brother, and he cries and confesses his guilt when under the spell of these moods. When he says that as a criminal I am unable to comprehend his perversions, I have no choice but to agree. He wishes to be touched again. I do not wish to change him.

\--

I touch him. It is a wicked solace for me to find in Jim, but he looks like an angel reclining next to me in bed. The white pillowcase is a wrinkled halo around his hair, and I study the way Jim's thick lashes flutter while I caress him reverently. If anyone at all is meant to contrast my plainness with their beauty, my twin prevails. Every time Jim lies in my blessed bed, his inability to want entices me. I endeavour to change him.


End file.
